Curaçao, part 1

Curacao lies in the southern Caribbean between Aruba and Bonaire, just above Venezuela.

Dan and I arrived in Curaçao's small, open-air airport with a single carry-on suitcase and a dive bag of snorkeling gear. I was really glad that we didn't have a lot of baggage as I wasn't feeling well; I'd awoken that morning with a sore throat. Fortunately, it was a nice flight and I slept much of the way. It was our first experience on DAE; our seats were roomy and as the flight wasn't full we were able to spread into the center seat.

We grabbed a taxi and rode 30 minutes across the island to the Hilton. The arid landscape was a sharp contrast to the lush rainforest in which we live and we learned that the island gets its fresh water from a desalinization plant. When I asked about the oil refinery we passed the taxi driver told me that much of Curaçao's income and employment comes from the oil industry because it is so close to Venezuela and has a deep-water harbor. (And in case you were wondering, he pronounced it Koo-ra-sow, not Cure-a-sow or Ca-ra-ko.)

Our plane arrived so early that our room wasn't ready. The concierge locked up our bags and we had a leisurely lunch in the open-air restaurant. As soon as we could check in dropped our bags in the room and made our way to Willemstad, cameras in hand. We knew from YouTube that Willemstad boasts traditional Dutch facades on many of its historical buildings, and we were eager to explore it.

As the story goes, in 1817 Governor-general Albert Kikkert complained that the glare from the buildings was giving him headaches and decreed that buildings should be painted any color other than white. What resulted was a multitude of beautiful pastel colors that still adorn the capital city's buildings and beg to be photographed by tourists like us. As we wandered around marveling at the architecture I noticed that even buildings in the back streets enjoy the same stunning colors.

Two bridges span the water, the beautiful Queen Juliana bridge, one of the highest bridges in the world, and the Queen Emma pontoon bridge. Dan and I were fascinated by the pontoon bridge, a wooden pedestrian bridge supported by 16 floating pontoons. When a ship needs to pass, two motors swing the bridge open from one side. (Here you can see the pontoon bridge opening and the Queen Juliana bridge in the background.) If the bell rings when pedestrians are on the bridge, they have to run to make it across before it opens. Woe to those who don't move quickly enough; they'll have to ride it out and wait until it closes to finish their journey.

Willemstad lies on both sides of the water and there are plenty of pedestrian-friendly streets to meander down. We came across an open-air market and enjoyed looking at all the fresh foods and souvenirs. When I translated a French souvenir to Dan the proprietress began conversing in French. During our brief conversation I learned that, although the island's official language is Dutch, most natives speak four fluently: Dutch, English, Spanish and Papamiento, the local dialect. That's really impressive. Most Americans can only speak English.

To avoid ruining my holiday I finally surrendered to taking decongestant and Dan stopped at an ATM for Antilles Guilders so I could buy some. Money in hand, we found a corner pharmacy. While he remained outside with his camera, I entered and approached the pharmacist. She recommended Claritin and asked how many pills I wanted. As in Panama and Indonesia, medications are sold by the tablet, not by the box. How different from America.

Back outside, we walked back to the waterfront and walked to an open-air cafe where a live band was playing. We ordered drinks and watched the people and boats pass by as the workday drew to a close.

Finally we decided to find a restaurant. Curaçao's full of immigrants and its foods are a melange of foods such as Dutch bitterballen and rijstaffel, Latino empana and Antillean criyoyo (as in criollo). Indonesian dishes such as nasi goreng and satay are also popular but -- been there, done that -- I'd had enough of those when we were on Bali last fall and they didn't appeal to me. We like to try local dishes, anyway. Any island is bound to have fresh seafood so Dan ordered a delicious criyoyo sea bass. Because my tongue doesn't like hot peppers I ordered a local dish, called keshi yena. Keshi yena means 'stuffed cheese' but is traditionally made with chicken, vegetables, seasonings and raisins. Unfortunately their version was so salty that I couldn't eat it. The waiter offered me a dessert on the house. I guess the chef finally tried it and agreed with me.

Back to the hotel we went. We enjoyed a drink at the tiki bar before retiring for the night.

P.S. After Governor-general Kikkert's tour of duty ended, the citizens discovered that he'd had a financial interest in the paint company.